It’s ten forty at night as I write this and perhaps
this piece, more than any other, will serve as a true and unfiltered glimpse
into my badly decayed psyche. Fate, has once again conspired against me in a
terrible fashion. I am a slave to the circumstances and whims of whatever
ungodly power runs this world. She moved on, I still haven’t.
I make no promises that any part of this will be
coherent in the slightest, or even that if asked an explanation could be
provided. My mind is clouded in a haze of raw and competing emotions. A simple
accidental click and my entire world comes crashing down around me, the whole
of my reality obliterated by a simple mistake.
Today is her birthday. I’ve spent the majority of
today debating with myself if any part of me has right, reason, or cause to
acknowledge it. I’ve wrestled with the impulse to wish her well, to offer good
tidings. Now I wrestle with something for deeper, far more wounding. And the
worst part is, I don’t know why it’s affecting me like it is.
This universe is sick, whatever entity,
consciousness, deity, or energy controls, coordinates, orchestrates,
influences, or engenders the goings on is reprehensible on a level that makes
Hitler seem like a saint. I have nothing but loathing and disgust for this existence.
There is nothing redeeming in it; no facet of salvation that makes it all worthwhile,
no set of circumstances that make everything fit together in a neat little
package. This universe is chaos, it’s insanity packaged like a frozen dinner
but served at a five star restaurant. None of it makes sense.
I’m a victim to my own machinations, consumed by my
dealings, a slave to the slow implementation of my own agenda. I am weak and
humbled, pitiful and abashed, embarrassed and at this exact moment nauseous. There
is no humor in this, no punch line that makes it all come together in a clever
way. There’s only the wound, still seeping, the scab barely holding together
and serving as the slender thread connecting the great gaping chasmal abyss of
my rapidly evermore deteriorating insanity with what scraps and shreds of my
fragile psyche remain intact enough to be held together. Even now I’m fighting
the urge to vomit, cry, scream, rip every hair from my head, and just shut
down. Some part of me wants to curl up into the fetal position, but another
part me knows that the action itself will do nothing to bring me solace or
peace of mind.
Anger, it’s the only clear emotion, the only thing
that pierces the blinding curtain of uncertainty and trepidation that has
descended. Anger at myself for not having found my peace, not having let the
wound heal, at allowing myself to be so deeply affected, at feeling anything at
all, at not being strong enough to achieve my goal of being numb, at having
every breath feel forced and labored. It’s all just excess, so much clutter. The
furniture of my mind is broken and worn, long past due to be thrown out and yet
I sit huddled in the corner clutching armor that is too worn thin to provide
protection and terrified of moving for fear of losing footing.
Thoughts come and go, like fluid. They’re more
ethereal, less real than ever before. Thoughts have never had substance but I could
dwell in them. My memory has gone soft, it’s at the periphery, over a wall I can’t
climb. The ladder’s not tall enough. Bring me the head of the disco king. It was
over, I was healing. The pain had ended, the hurting stopped. I had found
peace. I spiraled out…didn’t I? Why does it go on? I cried until there was
nothing wet in me, I screamed until my rebelled and threatened to rupture. I prayed
in silent agony, every second an anguish to any god I thought might listen. Still
it goes on, no end in sight. It doesn’t relent, I knew then and know that any
relent would not be out of caring. We’re insects, observed but not interacted
with. The ants keep marching into the infinite, oiled bioorganic machinery, a
giant organism of delegated labor. Lift the legs higher, dragging your feet
slows progress. Why the torment? Why no release or escape? What sin condemns to
this hell? What hypocrisy curses me with such tortures? God loves all
creatures, but forsakes those he chooses to condemn. Faith is the result of
forsaking logic in favor of blind obedience. No longer a martyr, not even
capable or fighting. I have no belief left. The echoes assail in silent attack,
ninjas on the wind with boots that make no sound. Bring the war to them. Where has
my sanity gone? I chose this hell. I did it. I had the choice, to forsake the
emotion or indulge it. I chose. Turn off the bleeding, not enough left to fill
the cup. Magnesium. Endless reckoning and reflection, find the soft spots,
history is static but memory is biased, smooth the edges and see the picture. No
more wrinkles. Precious. Happiness, they say it’s the ultimate. The pinnacle of
human interaction, the paramount endeavor of any intelligent being is to attain
happiness. Love is a chemical imbalance in the brain. Dopamine and serotonin are
secreted in response to pheromone recognition in the olfactory senses resulting
in the brain flooding with chemicals. Opiates do the same. Opiate, Tool’s first
EP. Drug of the people. Opiate brings happiness. Systemically removed like any
kind of termite or roach, this part of the building only though. The memory’s
come and feel solid one second then go soft and flicker away into the black. Nothing
solid, nothing tangible. There’s not such thing as death life is only a dream
and we’re the imagination of ourselves. If you attain enlightenment in life is
there anything left to offer you when you stand in judgment? Unconditional love.
How diluted was I? How utterly self-indulgent was I to remain blind and
willfully ignorant, to now see the course of the future? Elevate me enough to
bring me down, the air is stale up there. Never had a nose bleed. Disjointed thoughts
find footing in the ether, drift away on the wind. Chaos controls the minds of
everyone, order is the illusion. Well-ordered fear is not the soup du jour. The
failed stalker, she was terrible at it. Ask a question, get an answer. I got
you something. My pig. My Sol. No more tears left, the well has gone dry. Dust burns
the eyes. Laughing and crying are the same physiological process, lachrymal
stimulation is the only difference. Why is nothing solid? Why does it come one
second then leave the next? No excuse. Everything has a reason. Explain the
cause. Nothing just happens, chaos still has traceable patterns. The disorder
is just beyond human comprehension. It bleeds the same either way. The purge,
long overdue. The library charges a fee for late books. Purge the humanity,
drain the abscess and close the wound. Sutures, scalpel, staples, stitches,
thread. Tighter. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. Red, the color of war,
passion. Passion, where did mine go? Eaten up. Consumed like a star. Burn twice
as bright but half as long. Candles is snuffed out. Stoke the coals but not hot
enough to cook. Empty cold black space. No stars in the sky, gathered them up,
gave them to her. Greatest gift of all. Smile. Her smile. Vulgar thing. Common.
She has terrific teeth. Profane the priest. Nobility is lacking is self-righteous
action making a good deed into something tainted. I’m tainted. A pure heart
filled with poison. Barred from happiness. No longer chosen, or even wanted. Terrible
thing, happiness never lasts. Bitter taste and bad memories of it. Warm fingers
gripping cold flesh. Thinner then. Less hair. Cold eyes though. She said she
saw love, warmth. The couch left marks in my back, scabs arrived by morning. Blood
from her nails digging into back during lovemaking. The cat knows something’s
wrong. Big yellow eyes pierce my own. He sees through me. I’m scared and
helpless. Feel like I’m drowning. Gulping air but can’t fill my lungs. Air burns
the nasal passages as it passes. Don’t know what she smells like anymore. She used
to smell me. Random times. Odd texts telling me she could. Nothing but an
illusion, the whole of it. Years of investment wasted, no return and in the end
lost more than I put out. I’m not right. Something is severely broken and this
rabbit hole goes deeper than I thought. I don’t want to feel anymore, I’ve felt
too much and swallowed too much pain. Make the hurting stop so I can sleep. I just
want to be numb. I never asked to feel love. I don’t like it. Messy thing. Makes
the brain soft and emotions take over. Rationality doesn’t fit. Puzzle becomes
different. Broken thoughts. Dammit why can’t I put words down. The last talent I
had and it’s gone. Swallowed whole. I’m so tired, so empty. Drained. Hollow. There’s
no love in fear. Staring down the hole again, hands are on my back again,
survival is my only friend. Terrified of what may come. It will end no other
way. Tool will save my sanity.
